1 July 1612
I'm frying like an egg in this awful summer heat. I don't know if I'm actually losing weight or I'm just going heat crazy. For once in my life, I hope it's the later. Losing any more weight is just so not what I need right now.
Today in his letter, he mentioned that Simonn wanted to say hi, and asked how I was doing. I said in my letter I was fine, even though I'm not, really. I wish I could talk to them. I need to get out of here. I wish I could talk to someone, anyone, besides Mother.
2 July 1612
Be careful what you wish for, I suppose. Today, Mother had a man named David Cooper come by to speak with me, and hopefully (for Mother) marry me. I didn't want to go near him; he was rude and condescending and he was looking at me the way men do, like I'm a toy created just for them to play with. I hate it. Really, the only two men who look at me like I'm a person are Sigmun and Simonn. They're lucky; I've never seen a woman look at a man the way most men look at women, even Mariek.
Anyways, I did my best to be sullen and obnoxious so he'd leave. I made it clear I'm no good at cooking or sewing or laundry or anything else wives are supposed to do. I slouched as well as I could with my bodice on and I made sure to look a mess. Sigmun probably wouldn't care. He's seen me on my worst days and I think he wouldn't mind so much if I was a mess sometimes. At least, I hope not.
3 July 1612
I miss the trees. I miss the river. I miss the creek and the barry patches and the clearings and the bridge and books and staying the night at their house and seeing my friends and reading and smiling. I miss all of it. I miss them.
4 July 1612
Well, Mother's furious with me because of that David Cooper man. On the other hand, is she ever not furious with me? I think she's just determined to get rid of me.
5 July 1612
I find myself needing desperately to write more and more often these days, and I don't know why. Maybe I'm trying to purge all these feelings that have been building since the day Mother locked me in. Maybe I'm trying to burn off energy. Maybe I'm trying to shock myself into something resembling normality. Maybe I'm just plain old losing my mind and this is my symptom of insanity.
Thank goodness I have his letters. Knowing that I still have my friends is the only thing that gets me through these long, painful days.
6 July 1612
My head aches and Sigmun was caught by the night watchman. Now he says he'll leave his letters at a rock we both know halfway between our houses, out of reach of the watchman. So I suppose I won't be seeing him anymore. My only human contact will be Mother.
I'm going to lose my mind, if I haven't already.
7 July 1612
I intended to sneak out and find his letter today, but Mother was storming around the kitchen and the front room and I didn't want her to hit me, so I stayed in my room. My bruises from her sting for days. I wish she didn't slap so hard.
8 July 1612
Success! I made it out of the house and found a letter from him and left my letter for him. He's so romantic! How have I ended up with such a sweet…more-than-a-friend? Right now, I feel so detached that these letters feel like the only proof that there still is an outside world.
9 July 1612
Mother burst into my room last night while I was writing and she was drunk as hell and she was screaming about something to do with how I'd betrayed her, I'd done her some horrible wrong. She kept calling me Jennet. She's done this sort of thing before, thinking I'm someone else and blaming me for everything that person did to wrong her. I don't mean to take it to heart, but it's hard when my mother doesn't recognize me.
10 July 1612
I made it outside again and found two letters: one from Sigmun and one from Simonn. Sigmun's was another sweet, romantic love letter that I put in my jewelry box with the others. Simonn's was asking how I was and if I needed anything and if I was going to get out soon. I wrote back to both of them telling them I'm doing fine and asking how they're doing. Except Sigmun's was more romantic, but then that's different. Very different. (And I'm certainly not blushing right now. Not at all.)
11 July 1612
Sigmun's birthday is in a few days, on the fourteenth. I've already missed Simonn's (June 18), and now I'm going to miss his, too. Why won't Mother let me leave? All I want to do is breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on my skin. I want the river soaking my hair and the creek trickling over my feet and the berries staining my clothes. I want pine needles and sap on my hands and green grass beneath my feet. I want the smell of books and the taste of Dolora's mint tea and most of all, I want to feel happy the way I do only when I'm there.
13 August 1612
What a relief! I thought I'd lost my journal for good. I thought Mother had thrown it in the fire! I found it wedged behind my bed. I wonder how that happened? I would've kept my journal on paper, but I want to save my paper to write to my friends. I need to know they're still real. Maybe that sounds crazy, but I feel crazy. I can't stop moving, but I'm so exhausted that I end up sleeping for almost a whole day sometimes.
Mother is constantly angry with me. She yells all the time and drinks more often than she ever has before. I'm never going to drink the way she does. Besides that I'd like to think heartbreak would drive me to be so cruel to other people, I can see it's hurting her and I know it's bad for her. I know that people can drink too much and die, and though I don't like Mother, I don't want her to die.
14 August 1612
I desperately want to see someone else besides Mother and the few men she's tried to get me interested in. I suppose she knows I'll run away if she forces me to get married. I can't keep myself together. I keep screaming at Mother and my handwriting is shakey. It's a wonder he can read my letters.
I know what I'll do. I left a letter today, so he'll leave one tomorrow. I'll sneak out of my house and meet him at the rock. I have to see someone, and he's certainly the best person I could see.
15 August 1612
I saw him today! I left my house just after dinner by sneaking past Mother (she was asleep from drinking) and then I headed for the rock and I waited a long time, but he eventually showed up.
"Dianna?"
"Sigmun. It's me."
"Are you alright? Did your mother do something?"
"I'm fine. I just had to get out of my house. And…I really wanted to see you. Oh, it sounds so silly now…"
"If it makes it any better…I sometimes wait around to see if you'll show up," he confessed, flushing a red rather like wine.
"Nice to know," I said, but it was barely a whisper because I was blushing too. I reached for his hand and took it and it felt just like it always has before, and I know it was ridiculous, but I actually felt real and warm and I got that funny feeling all over my skin like pins and needles.
"I think I'm going crazy."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm restless. I can't stop moving. But I feel like sleeping for hours on end. I've been arguing with Mother more than usual, and I can't believe you can still read my letters with how messy my handwriting is. I don't know…I feel so detached, like I'm losing my mind…"
"You don't sound insane. If it helps any."
"Thanks, but it won't stop me feeling crazy."
"Most insane people don't know they're insane. Mama calls it cabin fever."
"What?"
"Like when I was little and I'd stay inside too long and I'd start being really restless like that. She said it was cabin fever. Maybe that's it."
"I wish I could do something about it."
"I could ask Mama."
"Would you?"
"Sure." He hugged me tightly and I hugged him back because I miss people so much. Despite a good deal of evidence to the contrary, I rather like people. I think that at heart, people mostly try to do what's right. I've never met a young child who wanted to hurt someone else. The youngest person I ever met who I thought was mean was that one boy when I was six who shoved me. And even then, Mother still loved me back then and she helped me up and took me home.
Anyways, I kissed him on the lips rather quickly because I did have to get home.
"See you soon?" he said, but it was a question more than anything else.
"I'm sorry for missing your and Simonn's birthdays," I blurted.
"S'fine. It's certainly not your fault."
"Well, tell Simonn happy birthday from me. And happy birthday to you."
"Thank you."
I took his other hand in mine and said, "I love you."
"I love you too," he said, squeezing both my hands. "I'll see you soon."
"See you."
And then I left with his letter. I feel much better. I really like being around people, especially my friends, and especially him. I think that walking there and then talking to him and touching him just helped me feel less detached. I don't like feeling so distanced from my old life. I liked my old life.
16 August 1612
Well, my birthday is coming up, and I'll be seventeen. Just one more year.
It occurs to me that I'll never have to worry about impressing Dolora. I know most girls have to worry about impressing their husband's parents, but I'm lucky in that respect. I suspect Dolora would be quite happy if Sigmun and I were married.
Though my desire to talk to someone else was satisfied yesterday, I still everything today, restless and tired and irritable and sick. But in the envelope, I found a spoonful of Dolora's calming tea
(I don't remember what's in it) and a note in her neat cursive: "Brew strong. You can have more if you like." I made the tea strong, like she advised, and I drank the whole thing in a few gulps even though it was scalding hot. I actually do feel calmer. I fought with Mother, but it wasn't so bad. I think I might ask Dolora for more, if she doesn't mind.
17 August 1612
My birthday's coming up. Mother's going to forget again. Or she might remember and yell at me because I've got a year left in her book to find a husband. I have someone who I want to marry! Just because I don't have a ring, doesn't mean I don't love him, and it certainly mean he doesn't love me! Obviously neither of us can afford to get married and neither of us want to get married so young. I like this not-married, halfway-between state. It's not bad at all. Though I do want to get married eventually, and I also do want children, I'd rather wait a few years. (Thinking about having children with him is making me blush crimson. I wish I had a tighter hold on that.)
18 August 1612
The letter from Simonn today included the new that his brothers are going to a local grammar school. Apparently Isabella is too young for Simonn to talk his parents into letting her go, too. He says he will next year, when she's six. And Sigmun says that he misses me. He's so sweet! I miss him, too, and I told him that because I think he'd like to know.
19 August 1612
The feeling of detachment was especially bad today. I felt almost disembodied for most of the day. What part I was awake for anyways. I fell asleep for most of the today, and when I was awake, I was restless as all hell. I went to the rock with my letter, but it didn't help, the way it usually does. I'm still starved for human contact.
20 August 1612
For some reason I had some sort of hysterical breakdown today. I was arguing with Mother and she threw a bottle at me and I screamed and a shard of glass cut my arm and I just started sobbing hysterically. I collapsed on the floor and Mother kept shouting and it was so overwhelming and I just couldn't take it anymore.
Mother left me alone for the rest of the day.
21 August 1612
Tomorrow is my birthday. I wonder if he'll remember. I wonder if my mother will remember. I don't know if I want her to remember. I certainly want him to, though. I feel like it means he cares.
22 August 1612
What a day. Much as I love Sigmun, he doesn't always think things through.
Mother woke me up by screaming at me that I had a damn year left and if I wanted any dignity, I had better be married by then, and she carried on like that for a long time. I groaned and got out of bed and got dressed and everything, like I do every morning. I don't really remember most of the day; it was routine and boring.
At about three in the afternoon, someone knocked on the door. Mother answered it, of course, and I supposed it was one of the men she wanted me to meet or maybe the village inspector. So I ignored it until I heard Mother screaming.
"NO, YOU CANNOT SEE HER! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
"I just wanted to—"
"I don't care what you wanted to do! You're wretched and horrible and you don't deserve anything more than rotting in the streets!"
I was seriously confused, so I walked into the living room and Sigmun was standing there with a little cake and another letter, looking rather afraid. I winced and tried to come up with a way to tell him sorry. I remembered when we were little and we came up with a sort of rudimentary language made of hand signals. So I did the sign for night, and then the one for rock. (We came up with all of twenty signs total, and I'm very lucky night and rock were among them.) He must've seen, because he said, "I'll go."
"You had better! You're nowhere near good enough for my daughter! You'll drag me down too! Get out!"
He left with the cake and the letter and I was left with an awful feeling of guilt. I never meant for him to come to my house. It's such a mess here, with Mother and her drinking and me and my "cabin fever". I don't want him to have to see that.
I'll apologize tonight.
23 August 1612
I apologized to him last night and he laughed. "Your mother is absolutely terrifying, but it's not your fault."
"You're lucky you don't live with her."
"I am indeed."
"I can't wait to be rid of her."
"Why don't you run away?"
"I don't know. I guess I wouldn't have anywhere to go."
"You could live with Mama and I."
"It's more complicated than that."
"How?" He wasn't trying to be hostile, but it was making me frustrated because I don't know why I don't run away.
"I don't know! I can't just leave my poor drunk mother for dead, can I? And…And…I just can't leave, alright?!"
"Alright, alright. Sorry." He held up his hands in surrender. "I just…I just don't want her hurt you any more."
"Believe me, me neither. But I just can't leave."
"Alright." He paused. "So, I have something for you." He held out this little cake that I bet Dolora made (considering last time we tried baking) with this shy little grin that made me feel all fuzzy inside.
"Thank you." I took the cake and split it in half and held out half to him. "Here. It's not fun if you don't share."
"Thank you," he said. We stayed that way for a while, eating the little cake, and then I looked up and I noticed he was rather staring at me.
"Dianna?"
"Hm?"
"Would you mind if I…if I kissed you?"
"Not at all." He moved closer to me and cupped my face in his hands and I rested my hands on his chest and he kissed me on the lips and it felt amazing, it felt like I was flying and standing in a warm rain and jumping down from a tree, all at once. He tasted like that cake, mint and sugar and a little chocolate, and his hands were so gentle and at the same time there was this intensity, this wanting, that I've never really felt before, and I liked it.
After a long, long time, we broke apart, and he rested his forehead against mine and said, "I love you, more than anything else."
"I love you too."
He leaned in and kissed me one more time, but quickly. "Will I see you soon?" He looked rather sad.
"I hope so. I'll try."
"I will too."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
And then I left. I already miss him.
24 August 1612
My mother yelled at me about Sigmun today. I'm just so tired.
"You little bitch! That awful boy asking for you, he's a useless, two-faced, lying, maggot-munching bastard!"
"Mother, I—"
"I don't care what you think, you two-faced whore! He's a stupid, fluff-for-brains, double-crossing, wine-faced weed!"
"No he's not! He's good and kind and he loves me!"
"Don't try to kid yourself, you stupid girl! He's using you! He'll use you up and toss you aside like every single man in this world does! He'll use your stupid infatuation and never, ever love you back!"
"Yes he will! He does! He loves me more than you ever will!"
"You're rotten to the core! You've never appreciated all I do for you, you selfish girl!"
"You haven't done anything for me! All you've done is get drunk and be the worst mother to ever have a child!"
"Excuse you? You ungrateful brat! I have raised you by hand and all you've ever repaid me with is this unthankful rebelliousness of yours!"
"You didn't raise me at all! You have no idea who actually raised me!"
"Ungrateful wench!"
"Useless drunk!"
"Go to your room! You're not getting dinner for a week!"
"I don't care! Starve me then!"
"You can starve for all I care!"
I was just too upset by that point to keep arguing, so I went up to my room to write. Writing really has taken the place of curling up and trying not to cry, and I think it's probably better for me. I hope it is, at any rate.
25 August 1612
I can still taste the cake in my mouth. I can still feel his lips on mine, his hands cupping my face, my hands on his chest. Talking to people is like food for me; I need it, and I don't have nearly enough. I suppose I've been mentally storing up moments when I see someone else to relive bit by bit. I keep replying my moment with him, reliving that kiss over and over until I overthink everything and have to calm myself down.
Mostly I worry that he's playing with my heart, making me believe he loves me so he can shatter my heart. That would be horribly cruel, and I'd never accuse him of it normally, but I just have a lot of trouble believing he loves me.
But honestly, when he kisses me that way, I can hardly bring myself to doubt.
26 August 1612
My heart aches. I don't just mean that figuratively, though that's true, too. It's just that I can actually feel my chest hurting, I can feel my heart telling me that I need to do something. And I do. It's been horrible in here and I need to get out, somehow. I don't even care if Mother just lets me run errands or something (though going to the market is not ideal, considering the men there), and I could go to Sigmun and Dolora's instead, and maybe Sigmun and I could go to the market together and it'd be just so nice…Anyways, it's easier to imagine warm days with my friends and with him than to face my painful situation here.
Something's bound to give way before long.
27 August 1612
Nothing to report today. I ate, I sewed, I read the book he's brought me again, I argued with Mother, I knitted, I argued with Mother, I ate, I'm writing, I'm going to go to bed. This whole routine is wearing me down like sandpaper on thin wood.
28 August 1612
I traded another book today. Dolora lets him bring one once a week, luckily. At least I'll have new reading material tomorrow. I need to escape this hell.
29 August 1612
I bet this is what hell is like. I can't endure one more second of it, yet I can't leave. I can't risk it.
I better ask Dolora for some salve for these cuts I've been getting from Mother's bottles.
9 October 1612
I can't believe I lost it again. I must be pretty dumb. Or slightly delusional. This time, it was buried under a pile of old skirts I use for patches. It must've fallen out of its usual spot.
I haven't been able to leave the house to check for letters in a week. A week! And my whole body is crisscrossed with cuts from Mother's bottles. Dolora's been sending salve with little notes that thinly veil her concern. I'd be concerned if I was in her place.
I've been losing weight since June because Mother eats like a bird and when she runs errands, she buys enough food for about half a person. So I haven't been eating much, and thus losing weight. I don't like it. I'm already far from attractive; losing all that weight certainly didn't help any. He's not going to love me anymore once he sees me again.
10 October 1612
I feel unreal. I feel like everything I've ever done, everything that's made me who I am, is just a strange dream. Maybe it is. Maybe I dreamed up my friends and my love and everyone I've ever hoped cared about me. Maybe I'm only just now waking up. Or maybe I'm just now falling asleep.
11 October 1612
Neolla's birthday was today. But she's off at school by now. Good luck to her.
12 October 1612
I found seven letters at the rock today and left my own. Seven letters…he still writes, even when I don't write back. Here's one of them:
Dearest Dianna,
I've decided to try a new form of writing. Mama says it's the noblest and most sensitive form of writing, and I must say I agree with her. Of course Simonn doesn't know about this, because he'd laugh at my newest hobby. I've been practising, believe it or not, and I'm still not very good. But I think you'll like it.
No day goes by where I don't think of you
The summertime brings a lonely sorrow
Like the grass is green and the sky is blue,
My heart is yours to keep, not just borrow.
As I sit by the tree, there's a warm breeze
It reminds me of you in its sharp wake
My dear, you make me so weak at the knees
I pray you do love me, for Heaven's sake.
The summer garden holds many a rose
But there's none quite as beautiful as thee
You hold all of my heart—Oh, the Lord knows
You're calm like the woods, but strong like the sea.
For to love you each day is my duty,
You'll always be my summertime beauty.
It's embarrassing how long that took. I guess it takes a long time to put everything I love about such an amazing person into just fourteen lines. I hope you like it.
All my love,
Sigmun
13 October 1612
I think I'm going insane. I really do. I feel disembodied, confused, upset, angry, even lost. Sometimes, I'm not sure anything is real.
I need to see him. I'd like to see all of them, but seeing him is the only practical thing I can do and anyways, I feel more real when I'm near him and that's just what I need right now.
14 October 1612
I'll sneak out soon, in a few days. I'm going to see him and I'm going to feel alive and sane again. I pray it works because desperately need to feel like I'm in my own body, that I'm still alive, that I'm still real. I've been reliving my stolen hours with him from August (all of three evenings total) since and it's driving me mad.
I have to get out of here.
15 October 1612
He wrote me the sweetest letter and if I were to die right now I'd die the happiest girl on Earth.
Dearest Dianna,
If I were to compare you to one thing, I'd have to choose summer. But not just any summer; the perfect days in June full of sun when berries ripen and flowers bloom and the whole world seems alive. The days you love. But even that would be a poor comparison, because you far surpass every summer day ever to dawn.
I don't know if you remember it, but one day, when we were twelve, Simonn didn't come over and you and I decided to go skating on the river. it was January, and it was snowing, and it was freezing cold. You told me I was crazy for going outside, but I was too stubborn to listen. We were skating on the river when you passed by me and grabbed my hands and spun me in a circle and you were laughing like there had never been anything sad in the world. I remember that as the exact moment I realized that I loved you. You were a flower in a desert, a sunbeam in a rainstorm. You're my summertime beauty and I can't even imagine letting you go.
I still wake up with the feeling of summer every morning because you love me. The single most impossible dream I ever had was that I would be allowed to tell you how much I love you. And here it is, my most impossible dream! You are the first flower to bloom in May, the first rain to fall in the middle of a July drought. You are the full moon for which you were named and the shooting star on a cold night. You are the only person I can even imagine loving and the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with. If I could see you every day again, like I used to, I would be the happiest person to ever live. I hope I can see you again soon. I love you.
All my love,
Sigmun
16 October 1612
I snuck out and left my letter for him today. I wish I could still feel that elation I used to have from knowing that he loves me. I wish I could still feel that urge to dance and run and sing. I wish I could make myself be happy.
I wonder how he feels. He wrote that he was happy, joyful even, and for that I am glad. I like knowing he's happy.
17 October 1612
I successfully made it outside today and I met Sigmun at the rock. I had a letter, but I just wanted to see him in person. To make sure he was real, because I'm starting to feel like anything outside my house is just a dream and I needed to know he was real, he was still here, his eyes and his smile and his hair and his hands and his lips.
"Sorry, but can I just…" I said when I saw him.
"Sure?" he answered. I reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand. It was real and warm and it was something outside the four walls of my home. He was…real. There are honestly days when I think I must be going mad and Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and everyone I've ever met are just figments of my imagination.
"Sorry…I'm just starting to feel so distant from the world, being inside all the time. You're just…real. And…still here."
"Of course I'm still here. Do you expect me to run away when the girl of my dreams, who I haven't properly seen since August, finally comes around?"
"I don't know. I don't want to say I think you'll find someone else, but…"
"You think I'll find someone else."
I nodded and he stepped so he was right in front of me, chest to chest, and he took my hands in his. "There has only ever been you and there will only ever be you. I promise."
I don't think he knows how much that meant to me, because I don't really believe I'm someone worth waiting for. I know he's worth waiting for; I'll wait forever for him. But me? I'm not worth waiting for.
"Thank you."
"What for?"
"For being here."
"Well, you're welcome." And then he leaned down and kissed me and I kissed him back and I could feel every beat of his heart and every movement of his body. I threaded my hands through his hair and it was messy, but also smooth and warm, just like how it looks. His hand slipped up to the back of neck and I could feel his fingers gently stroking the baby hairs there. I felt so completely real for the first time in months and I didn't want it to end because real isn't something I feel anymore.
But I broke away because I had to go home before Mother figured out I was gone. "I have to go, Sigmun."
He looked sad, but nodded. "Alright. Will I see you soon?"
"I'll try." I stole one more kiss and said, "I love you."
"Love you too."
I turned and walked home, waving until I couldn't see him anymore.
18 October 1612
I wonder if it's possible to drink until you die. I wonder if someday my mother will drink until she doesn't wake up anymore. And it's horrible, but I'm not sure I'd be sad.
19 October 1612
I almost hope Father won't come home. I don't think I can bear one more visit from Father. Hell, I don't think I can take one more day stuck in my home. No, it's not my home. They say home is where the heart is, and my heart is with my friends.
20 October 1612
I was sick today and I vomited badly three times. I don't even know why. I wish I'd had some of Dolora's tea. I wish I'd been at Sigmun and Dolora's so I'd at least know someone cares enough to ask me if I was alright or tell me to go home or something.
Here's a draft of a letter I'm writing to him. It's not very good, but I'm trying.
Dearest Sigmun,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I hope you're smiling. I hope you're happy, because your smile can light up the world as long as you let it.
I miss you, love. Every time I reach for the books you bring me, I think of you again. I think of your smile, of your eyes, of you reading history books aloud and pointing out all the important parts, of you at the top of the pine tree shouting how you could see the river from there, of you when we were making that cake for Dolora and you were so determined to make it turn out well…I don't stop thinking about you, love. I think the French sounds better here: Tu me manques. You're missing from me.
I think French here sounds better overall. Je t'aime. Tu m'aime? Tu es très beau…I must sound ridiculous. Just know that I'd give you the world if you asked for it. I smile when you do; I cry when you do. I love you.
All my love,
Dianna
21 October 1612
He left such a romantic letter yesterday! I don't deserve these sweet letters, these blissful kisses, these beautiful memories of moments spent with him. I don't deserve someone so wonderful. But I guess some higher power decided I'm getting more than I deserve. Or something awful is going to happen to me later in my life and this is my happiness. No, that sounds crazy, even to me. I'll probably just live a slightly off-normal life. It's not like I'm going to get thrown in prison or start a revolution or something.
Oh, and here's the letter.
Dearest Dianna,
I've been working more on my sonnets, which I certainly hope you like because Mama said they're very romantic and that you'd like them. Because of this, I wrote another one for you. I'll do my best to make it different.
There are so many things to love today,
Although the world may seem a little down.
Melody rings in my ears when you play,
Your pretty voice will never bring a frown.
The green of your eyes, minty candy sweet,
You may give me a toothache, don't you know.
You touch the heart of everyone you meet,
You are the bright, shining star of the show.
You never fail to be there for me,
And I will always try to do the same.
Just letting you know, you fill me with glee,
It works, though I don't know if that's your aim.
In the garden there is a pretty rose,
You will never wilt, my dear, Heaven knows.
I'm sorry if it sounds rather like the other one. I'm still practising. But I'm trying my best for you and that has to count for something. I send you all my love, Dianna. If there was a way for me to see you more often, I would walk miles and miles around the world to find that way. I would turn the earth upside down for you in a heartbeat. I love and miss you with all my heart.
All my love,
Sigmun
22 October 1612
It's getting cold inside as well as out. Even the fire Mother never bothers to maintain (that's my job, as is everything around here) can't warm my cold house. Or my shivering heart.
23 October 1612
Another cut, this one on my shoulder. It almost hit my neck. I'm not sure if Mother would care if she accidentally killed me. She'd probably be glad.
Sometimes, I'm not so sure I would care, either.